


nosce te ipsum

by seraf



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Rebirth, Second Chances, Self-Discovery, Trans Male Character, look this is self indulgent. i do what i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/pseuds/seraf
Summary: ( know thyself. )you are eighteen years old.kissing a boy feels like getting struck by lightning all over again, that white-hot shock paralyzing you where you stand, every nerve ending alight.the only difference is that there’s no pain, this time.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	nosce te ipsum

you are twelve years old, and slouching in a sweatshirt too big for you in a library chair, brow furrowed under the hood as you work your way through the book, mouthing some of the words softly under your breath, liking the sound of them, the way they string together. _laughter-loving, distant deadly archer, best of the acheans._

the back of the book has some of them listed along with the original greek. you carefully write some of your favorites on the back of your arm, trying to curve your characters in the right way. as though if you do it right, they will stick to you. _king of men. man of action. man of exploits._

you like to imagine, when you wake up in the morning, and the letters are smudged but still there, that your face is a little less soft, your dark eyes just a little bit wiser. 

you are fifteen years old, and your knees are dripping blood down your shins, face burning with shame as you look up at the clear sky. of course it is a clear sky. of course the thunder you had heard was for nobody but you. you had froze where you stood, at the first rolling crack of thunder, before running faster than you knew your legs could take you, diving for cover, hands clapped over your ears. you hadn’t felt your skin tearing, your blood so white-hot with fear. 

what kind of boy cries at thunderstorms? 

the backs of your hands, at least, are clean, even if your palms are scraped, and you use them to rub at your eyes as you step out from where you hid, trying to catch your breath. trying to find some comfort in how blue the sky is. 

it had seemed so _real._

you wrap your scarf a little higher around your face, and don’t meet the eyes of the other boys on the field. walk inside as quickly as you can. you’ve already seen too many looks of pity. 

you are seventeen years old. one of your classmates and you needed to share the same book, so your thighs are pressed together, taking turns reading passages out loud. you realize at some point that you were so caught up in listening to the sound of his voice, watching the way his hand skirted the page, that you have taken absolutely nothing of the book in. 

you swallow and try to make your eyes focus. you don’t need one more thing to worry about. but there is a twist in your chest that you don’t know how to ignore. 

you are eighteen years old. 

kissing a boy feels like getting struck by lightning all over again, that white-hot shock paralyzing you where you stand, every nerve ending alight. 

the only difference is that there’s no pain, this time. 

you are just-nineteen years old when you jump from the roof of chichester cathedral’s bell tower. you realized at some point it had been your birthday a few weeks ago. what a strange thought. 

you have regrets. of course you do. and your throat is raw with desperation as your back presses to the windowsill. you wonder who will even notice your disappearance, one way or another. 

you don’t have time to think about it any longer. 

you jump. 

you are . . . well, it’s hard to say these days, isn’t it? but you are free of too-big layers and dreams of electric corridors that weigh your shoulders down. free of having things to hide. 

after being chased for so long by one scar, it is funny how freeing others can be. 

a young man tells you he was lost in your eyes, and you smile, don’t mention that it’s genuinely a possibility. 

vertigo feels a great deal like attraction, sometimes. you wonder idly which he feels. if they can be separated from each other, when it comes to you. 

you remember the words you had written on your arms, years ago. wonder which epithet might fit you. _son of, king of, prince of._ can words encompass you, anymore? 

the space behind your ribs feels infinite, and it is oddly in giving yourself to something else that your body for the first time feels your own. 

**Author's Note:**

> when will i be stopped


End file.
